


Writing Checks and Shooting Stuff

by celli



Category: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Common People Challenge, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-19
Updated: 2005-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you have any skills at all that can be useful to this expedition, Lieutenant?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writing Checks and Shooting Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of repurposing injured military personnel is not mine. I "borrowed" it from [The Secret Life of Scientists](http://yearningvoid.net/stories/julad/000082.html) by [](http://julad.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://julad.livejournal.com/)**julad**.

"Would you like to tell me why you're here, Lieutenant Lindholm?"

"Well, Dr. Beckett said it was a condition of my discharge."

Dr. Heightmeyer smiled. "Why don't you start a little earlier in the story?"

"Oh. Well. Really, I'm here because I was bored with my job."

"At Stargate Command?"

Lindholm shrugged. "I was in accounting. Chained to a desk. Not much saving the world going on from Level 14. Although sometimes we'd have lockdown, and one time alien vines came out of the walls, which I don't think ever happened at Ernst & Young."

"Probably not."

"So when it turned out I had the gene, I volunteered to come here. They put me through a refresher combat course and everything. My marksmanship was great." Lindhom's fingers drummed on the wheelchair arm. "My running maybe needed some work, though."

Before Dr. Heightmeyer could respond, Lindholm added, "Oh, work, that's the other thing. Dr. Beckett said that you arrange assignments for people when they can't go into the field any more."

"What kind of assignment are you interested in, Lieutenant?"

Lindholm almost smiled. "Got any desks you can chain me to?"

***

"Functional Analysis?"

"No."

"Differential Equations?"

"No."

"Abstract Algebra?"

"Is that different from regular algebra?"

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No."

Dr. McKay crossed his arms. "Did you take *any* math classes while you were making a mockery of the American university system, Lieutenant?"

"One semester of Statistics. And Calculus. Um, twice."

"Twice?"

"I got a D the first time."

"You got a D? In Calculus?" McKay's look of contempt was truly a thing of beauty. "I suppose the next semester you failed Underwater Basket Weaving?"

Lindholm's right hand was tapping faster and faster on the wheel of the chair, but her face remained blank. "No, sir."

"Should I even ask about your background in any of the hard sciences?"

"I wouldn't bother."

He threw his hands in the air. "Do you have any skills at all that can be useful to this expedition, Lieutenant?"

"I have two: writing checks and shooting stuff. Got any openings?" Lindholm finally developed an expression--a glare to rival Rodney's. She turned the chair to the door. McKay's desk happened to be in the way. His coffee dropped squarely in his lap.

"Owwwwwwww!"

Lindholm didn't even pretend to apologize. She just glared at him again and left.

"I think perhaps she has another skill," Dr. Zelenka observed from the other side of the room, where he'd been observing avidly. "Making astrophysicists pay."

"Did I *ask* you?" McKay started mopping up the coffee and missed the thoughtful look on Zelenka's face.

***

"Dr. McKay, we have a surprise for you."

McKay looked suspiciously at Heightmeyer and Zelenka, who were both ominously cheerful. "This is not a good surprise, is it?" He looked past them into his office. "What's *she* doing here?"

"Good morning, Doctor," Lt. Lindholm said calmly.

"No."

"You have a morning briefing at 0900--"

"No."

"The report from M9H-632 is twelve hours overdue--"

"No."

"And Dr. Kavanagh needs to speak with you as soon as possible."

"Oh, hell no. You got me a secretary?"

"I don't answer phones," Lindholm said.

"She's your administrator, Rodney. She's perfect for it."

"If woefully overqualified," Lindholm said. She intercepted a look from Heightmeyer and went back to sorting the files on McKay's desk.

"She has the organizational skills and attention to detail to help you with administrative work, so you can spend more time on your scientific work."

"Well..." McKay looked over his shoulder. "Twelve hours late, huh?"

"And she has a gun, so she can shoot you if you attempt to abuse her," Zelenka said.

McKay glared at him.

Zelenka smiled.

"Fine. Fine. Lindholm, find whoever was responsible for the criminal negligence that is turning a report in late--I have my suspicions--and ask them if they'd like me to put the shield up twelve hours late the next time the Wraith attack."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell Kavanagh to schedule an appointment. By mail. From our galaxy."

"Yes, sir."

"And get me some coffee."

"Not on your life, sir."

McKay crossed his arms.

Lindholm tapped her fingers on her wheelchair.

"We'll discuss this later," McKay said.

"No, we won't," Lindholm said. "Now about your briefing--"

Heightmeyer leaned over. "I'll be back to check on them later," she said to Zelenka.

He grinned. "Bring popcorn."


End file.
